Missing You
by newyorkace
Summary: That little glimmer of hope that has gotten her trough the past year, has just turned into a brightly lit candle just waiting to catch the closest thing on fire. TIVA. Post Aliyah, somewhat AU. COMPLETE
1. Hope

A/N:

I was on my way home from work the other night and "Austin" by Blake Shelton came on shuffle. Needless to say, I was inspired to write a similar story, according to TIVA. That being said, it's a little AU, in relation to Aliyah and ToC and the first chapter is a little Ziva-centric. If you feel so inclined, please share your thoughts! After writing the first chapter, I have decided to make it 3 chapters instead of a one-shot. Much love and TIVA–Ashley

**Disclaimer:** I do not own NCIS. I only spend my snow days watching reruns and writing my own little ideas, only to receive no compensation and a new episode tonight!

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**Hope**

She doesn't exactly know what possessed her to pick up the phone and dial that all too familiar number. Her slender, worn fingers dance over the key pad with a surprisingly practiced ease, despite the invisible dust that has settled over that particular pattern of numbers. The common place dial tone is harsh on her ears, and with each ring her heart skips a beat as if her pulse is no match for her heart.

It's been a year to the day since she watched that U.S. Navy plane fade into the distance; three hundred and sixty five days since she had heard his voice, in any tone, say her name or say anything at all for that matter. It that stretch of time, work has been her only savior and, even then, it's nothing compared to the work she did with him. She has long since admitted her wrongs to herself, though; the mistakes she made before, during, and after the incident. The pain she has endured over that past year due to losing him and her 'family' is her own doing, and it is worthy of the guilt she is weighed with.

That pain and guilt, however, is nothing compared to the nervous fear that wracks her body as the phone continues to ring. For a moment she fears he might not pick up, but she would be lying if she said she did not understand why he wouldn't. It has been a year, and a long one at that. The average person would be long gone and moved on, and she couldn't begrudge him that. But it didn't stop her from holding onto a shred of hope that he may still be waiting, waiting for her.

The phone clicks, and she draws in a sharp breath at the inevitability of actually hearing his voice again. The excitement is short lived as the machine starts to play, offering her a recording instead of the real thing. _Hey, you've reached Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo. If this is a stupid person calling to buy the red Jetta, I don't have a damn Jetta so stop wasting your time. If this is anybody else, you should know its Tuesday and I'm bowling with Abby and the nuns. Leave a message and I'll call you back. Oh, and if this just happens to be the ninja chick, I still miss you._

She's too overcome with shock to form any words. Her phone falls deftly shut, and she stares dumbfounded into the hot Israeli sun. After a year, nothing has changed. He still narrates his voice-mail to the activities of his day, and uses that silly extension of his name. He still bowls every Tuesday with Abby, a habit he picked up when he finally came back from being isolated on the U.S.S. Ronald Reagan. He still misses her. It is almost too much to wrap her assassin, Mossad-trained head around.

That little glimmer of hope that has gotten her trough the past year, has just turned into a brightly lit candle just waiting to catch the closest thing on fire.

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A/N: Props the person who can identify the reference to The Script haha


	2. Missed Calls

**A/N:** Thanks to all of you who reviewed. And the reference to The Script was a title of their song "Long Gone and Moved on", which is off their new CD which I am in love with. Anywho…here's the second chapter and it's mainly Tony-centric this time. The third chapter, which will hopefully be posted today, will be TIVA-centric.

And to answer one of my reader's questions: No, Somalia never happened. That's why it is AU. Everything in Aliyah happened, but she was never sent on that suicide mission by her father. I usually don't do AU but this thought process took me here, so I decided to just go with it.

**Disclaimer:** NCIS is not mine.

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**Missed Calls**

He offers one more wave before heading to his car. A smirk forms on his face when he hears the whispered, light comments coming from the ladies behind him, and he knows that his buttocks is once again being judged in the dim light of the street lamps. He will make sure to interrogate Abby tomorrow, because he still doesn't understand how it is appropriate for nuns to be checking him out. But that is for tomorrow. Pushing his curiosity aside he slides into the driver's seat and turns on the engine.

It's a short ride to his apartment from the bowling alley, which is why he caved so quickly when Abby had suggested the Tuesday night activity. It promptly became a weekly event, and after each evening he came home exhausted; he knew that Abby was quite the energetic one, but he never expected the Sisters to be equally so. Tonight was no different and Tony made a beeline for his bedroom immediately after walking through the door.

He falls unceremoniously on the bed, tossing his keys and cell phone onto the nightstand. Once the clatter of items dulls to a silence, a quiet beeping catches his attention. It's only then that he remembers that he left his personal cell phone at home; Gibbs was away at a mandatory conference for the next two days and Tony only felt inclined to carry the "Boss" phone, as he called it. He blindly moves to the open the wooden drawer, and he rummages without sight to find the object of his attention.

His fingers collide with something thin and smooth. He doesn't recall anything of real importance or anything at all being in the nightstand, but his curiosity gets the best of him. What he doesn't expect is to catch his breath and for his heart to skip a beat, all at the expense of a small glazed over piece of paper. The memories hit him like a thick, weighted winter wind, but he'd be lying if he said this was the first time he's experienced a moment like this.

He throws a quick glance at the clock, and the realization hits him that it's been a year; three hundred and sixty five days since he had seen her in person or had her close enough for him to touch. Since that plane had come back to the U.S. one short, he has buried himself under a pile of regrets and what ifs. Every day he runs through all the things he could have done differently, and all the things he might have said that would have changed her reaction. In the end, though, he is only hit with the hard realization that he cannot change anything. She's gone and she has been for awhile now.

Now, he can only simply stare at the photo in his hand and imagine where she is at this moment. The photo itself was taken at a barbeque at Gibbs' house; a moment after the deception of Jeanne but before Jenny's untimely death and before the team suffered a separation, which only deepened the schism in the partners' relationship. She is amid a laugh, her whole face bright with joy, in response to a movie reference he has just made. Her dark brown hair is set in natural curls and his arm is settled lightly around her waist; her partner, her support, and possibly something more. It illustrates a time when their relationship had reached a new level of understanding; they had reached a point when they could be a little more intimate and express the trust and honesty that had taken over between them.

He smiles sadly, and props the new found charm against the bedside lamp. It is a memory he cherishes, and it's possibly one of the last good ones he can remember before it all went to hell. In a way, this simple photo is all he has left of her; it's the last artifact that he can hold onto that is solely them. Aside from the photo, all he is left with is a hope; a hope that one day she will call, she will come home, or just give him a smoke signal that she's still out there and maybe, just maybe, thinking of him.

Shaking these thoughts from his head, he finally finds his phone. There is one missed call and the number is foreign. It's definitely not from the D.C. area, and he hardly doubts it's from anyone of immediate importance. Most likely, it is just another solicitor calling to offer him better insurance or assure him that he is the new winner of a brand new car. It's late and he doesn't have the time or patience to deal with such trivial things, so he makes a note to have McGeek trace it tomorrow.

Clearing the notification from the screen, his fingers deftly punch in a few numbers and he holds the phone to his ear. "You've reached Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo, and I'm the big Boss Man today so I might be incommunicado for a little while. But leave your name and some digits and I'll call you back ASAP," his voices quiets as he nears the end. This part is always the hardest, but he can never stop himself from including it. "PS. If this is the ninja chick, I still miss you".

He holds back the tremors in his voice and shuts the phone, signaling the end of the recording. The phone lands with a loud yet short clatter when it joins his other belongings on the wooden surface. It takes him a couple minutes to situate himself but soon he is sound asleep, left only with the familiar dreams haunted by her and what could have been.

X

It's been a long day out in the field. After twelve straight hours of running between the field, autopsy, and Abby's lab, he has hardly gotten to sit down all day, let alone eat. It's moments like these when he understands why Gibbs needs the coffee, the boat, and the bourbon.

Absent mindedly, he reaches for his phone which has been resting forgotten on his desk. He pops its open, on reflex, and the number that appears catches him off guard. Once again, he has a missed call from the same odd number as the night before. Inwardly, he chastises himself for not having McGee run it earlier and he looks around, but then remembers that he sent everyone home only moments before. Pushing the idea off for another day, it comes to his attention that this time a voice mail accompanies the mysterious call. Initiating the appropriate codes and entering his password he readies himself to listen to the message, only expecting a confirmation of the previous night's conclusions; he wasn't prepared for what graced his ears.

_Hi…um…Hi, Tony. It is me, Ziva. I am not sure what exactly would be appropriate to say on a voicemail. I called last night as well. I was hoping to catch you before work this morning, but I guess I just missed you. My number is 03- 435-9968. I know that you own me nothing, but I would really like to hear from you. Please._


	3. Missing You

**A/N:** I am absolutely thrilled with the response I have gotten with this story. You're all too good to me! But I am glad you are enjoying it! This is the 3rd and, should be, last chapter. I hope it answers all of your questions and quenches all of your hopes. And if you have time and would like, please let me know your thoughts!

**Disclaimer:** I do not own NCIS, its characters or the plot lines that lead up to the beginning on my story. I am only responsible for my own musings. I am also not the owner of Blake Shelton's "Austin", which was quite an inspiration for this story.

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**Missing You**

The living room clock screams nine o'clock in its bright blue, LED fashion. Usually, on days like today he'd still be engrossed in his unadulterated dreams, tangled in a fight with his sheets. But it's been close to a week since he's enjoyed that luxury. He's tossed and turned all night, similar to his last three slumbers; the total hours slept parallels that of when the team is on a hot case. So, this early morning hour doesn't faze him in the slightest because it's nothing new.

There's a method behind his madness, though. It's Saturday. That brings the total to four days since he experienced the unimaginable. Her voice seeped through the phone and enveloped his being in a way he thought only her presence was capable of. It had entranced him, mystified him. She is still out there; she's alive, she sounded healthy and, more importantly, she wanted him to call her back. It is his greatest and more frequent fantasy being lived out.

His heart skips a beat with every punch of the key pad, but he's learned enough from Ducky to know that is impossible. The fatal arrhythmia is only in an illusion built up by the adrenaline running through his body at the anticipation of the inevitable. The only thing keeping him close to reality is the harsh shrill of the dial tone. Each ring brings him a few brief seconds closer to their unavoidable reconnection.

By the third ring, his respirations are slow and labored, beads of sweat are forming on his forehead, and his foot is quickly, consecutively making contact with the floor; it's only called for, considering it is his one nervous habit she hates. It's only then that she takes mercy on him, that unreasonably loud click of connection causing his breath to catch in his throat. He's caught by surprise, though, when her words flow fluently through the speaker almost immediately.

_If you are calling about my emotions, my loyalty, and – my heart, they are all still yours. I should have listened to my heart a little more, and then it would not have taken me so long to know where I belong._

His heart drops unexpectedly at the obvious turn of events. It wasn't supposed to happen like this. Phone tag is far from the game he wants to play. But amid the battle of thoughts being fought in his head, words begin to once again fill the silence.

"And by the way, Tony, this is not the machine you are talking to. Can you not tell, this is your Ninja chick? And I still miss you. I still miss you, Tony." Her words were as clear as day, filtered smoothly in the inner workings of his brain. It is a statement that is not recorded; it is her strong voice, right alongside her strong presence speaking directly to him in real time.

"Ziva," he breathes effortlessly. All that invades his senses is her; he may not be able to see her in the flesh, but he has dreamt about her enough that everything about her envelops him. The whole grand speech he had previously planned has fled fast from his mind. Her name is the only word his lips can form, and he discovers it usually comfortable and satisfying. It says everything he needs to express to her; it is enough closure for both of them. Of course there is much to be discussed, but for the moment it's enough.

She smiles on the other side of the phone, and a familiar feeling cascades throughout her body. "So you still record special voice mails, Hairy Butt? Isn't it time you grew out of that?" She makes the first leap back into their endless banter. There will be a time and place for difficult conversations, but this is a comfortable safety net and, right now, it's what they both need. They need the familiarity; they need what defines them.

Miles, an ocean, and complex conversations are only physical barriers, which can be overcome. Emotionally, though, she has found her way back home; they both have.

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**A/N:** Please let me know if you'd like to see a sequel and how they work things out. I have been tinkering with the idea, but I am also somewhat convinced that I should leave it as is. Let me know your thoughts!


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